A cannon thundered out at Holy Midnight. First to respond to it were the bells of [the bell tower of] Ivan the Great; then those of Chudov Monastery spake out, their voices being caught-up by the ones in the Resurrection Monastery, in the cathedrals, in the churches – then, by all the bells of the Kremlin. Their peal began to roll out over the indented walls and flow across the opposite shore of the River Moskva, toward Kitai-gorod. It radiated out along the entire expanse of the White-walled City [of Moscow], to the darkened fields, to the mounds and knolls, to the forests, the glades, the thickly-overgrown spaces outside the town.

Moscow began to declare the Good News [of Christ's Resurrection].

A volley of rockets soared up into the star-studded sky from behind the walls of the Kremlin and all the temples therein – ancient and new, tall and short, on the squares, on the streets, on the by-ways, at the outskirts of the city – all began to glimmer with with the tiny lights of candles without number. Garlands of tiny glass lanterns burst into light on the walls of the churches. A grace-giving, joyous light flooded the whole of the White-wall City. And the ancient city began to shine – like a holy, unquenchable lampada [vigil-lamp] before the Throne of God, before the meek face of Christ.

The doors of the churches flew open. Crosses gleamed, buried in sweetly-fragrant flowers. Golden khorugvi [religious banners with icons upon them] were lifted up.

"Khristos voskrese!" ["Christ is risen!"] – the sound mounted to the starry heavens. Moscow fell silent. She began to tremble with joy; and, from end to end, across her entire expanse, she cried out with the whole of her mighty stone breast: "Khristos voskrese!"

"Khristos voskrese!" the white walls kept repeating. "Khristos voskrese!" the vernal waters whispered. "Khristos voskrese!" the first green shoots rustled.

"Voistinu..." ["Truly..." (He is risen)], the starry sky responded with a joyous sigh, and came down to earth with fragrant breezes.

"Prazdnik iz prazdnikov i Torzhestvo iz torzhestv..." ["The Feast of Feasts and the Triumph of Triumphs..."], the melodious young voices sang in the brightly-lit church.

My sister and I stood not far from the amvon [ambo], dressed in white, paschal dresses, with flowers in our hands. Greenhouse roses and lilies-of-the-valley poured forth their perfume in bouquets. Thick candles, garlanded with a golden spiral, burned with fiery flames.

The priest kept coming out in robes that were ever-changing in their intensely-blinding gleam, joyously proclaiming:

"Khristos voskrese!"

"Voistinu voskrese!" ["Truly He is risen!"], the people thundered in response. Triple kisses [exchanged by the Russians at Pascha] rustled. "Greetings on this Bright Feast..." was heard from all sides.

"Khristos voskrese!" Lidusha [a "diminutive" (affectionate) form of Lidiya], Vyerusha [a "diminutive" of Vera]," I heard our father's voice next to me. My sister and I "christed" [exchanged a triple paschal kiss] with him. Our mother, in her light-grey dress bent down over me and, kissing me three times, whispered: "Blow out the candle." Zautrenya [Mattins] had ended.

We stood through part of the festive liturgy and then went home. A spring breeze blew to meet us. The sky gazed down mysteriously, strangely! The windows in all the houses were alight. People passed by quietly, in a festive mood.

"Khristos voskrese!"... the words drifted on the breeze. "Voistinu voskrese!"... resounded the replies. "It will soon be dawn. The east is already lightening," father said, as we were approaching the house. The dining-room greeted us with a puffing samovar, a splendidly-light kulich [a sweet, cylindrically-shaped Russian paschal-bread] with a fiery rose on top, a tall pascha [a soft, pyramid-shaped Russian sweet-cheese], eggs of various hues, a rosey-pink ham, krendel'ki [little knot-shaped bisquits], tiny buns, and pastries. Margarita (the governess - ed.) arrived, half-asleep, wished us a happy holiday, and expressed her regrets that she had missed our beautiful Mattins service – "votre belle sautrenja." In the house, every object gleamed; so clean was it. Brightly did scarlet and dark-amber lampadas flicker in their shining mountings. Festive rugs showed off their variegated colours. Curly little heads of hyacinths blossomed luxuriantly on window-sills, filling the house with their fragrant perfume. Through white muslin drapes, the pre-dawn sky grew violet. The stars slowly winked out. The gilding of the sky shone in the distance, amidst the grey lattice of branches. From thence, from out of that golden strip, the joyous, paschal sun would have to surface [for its paschal "dance," (according to Russian belief)].

Oh, if only one had the strength to wait for it; to see it! But mademoiselle was driving one to sleep.

"Go on, go on, or it will be impossible to awaken you, even by dinner-time. You're a renowned sleeper amongst us," mother would second her. But I would growl: "I slept prior to zautrenya, and now I have to go sleep again!"; but barely had I touched the pillow than my eye-lids locked, a blessed repose seized my body, and golden-wing'd clouds began to float before my eyes; the round, gleaming little sun splashed into the azure kingdom of sleep.

"Khristos voskrese!" it exclaimed, dousing the earth with its vernal rays; playing in the scarlet glimmerings of the mists above the waters.

"Khristos voskrese!" the golden sky sang out.



Nun Varvara (Sukhanova) was born in Moscow in 1896. She entered the Lesna Convent in 1929, when she was in the Khopov Convent in Serbia. She bore obediences of the most various kinds: she was a member of the choir and a nurse; she looked after the children of the Khopov Orphanage; she painted icons. In 1932, she was tonsured to the small schema.

The sisters loved Mother Varvara for her sympathetic responsiveness and concern for the ill. The remembrance of her radiant repose was likewise preserved in the convent.

Mother Varvara was ill with cancer for several years; and with something else, as well – tuberculosis, it seemed. All of which she bore up under, valiantly and unmurmuringly. She particularly venerated St. Nectarios of Aegina. Finding out that many had been healed of cancer through his prayers, she prayed ardently to him and drank the infusion which she had been sent from the monastery he had founded, where he also is buried. She was taken to the hospital because she began to experience difficulties with her heart and the doctors could not find any cancer or any other illness, either. But Mother Varvara grew ever weaker, and when it became clear that death was not far-distant, she was brought back, early in the morning. She had time enough to ask for forgiveness and to commune of the Holy Mysteries.

She reposed quietly and peacefully, after the conclusion of the liturgy, on 10 December (n.s.) 1972.

Mother Varvara always wrote much. Her essays and tales appeared in «Православная Русь» ["Pravoslavnaya Rus'" ("Orthodox Rus'")] and in the supplement entitled «Детство во Христве» ["Dyetstvo vo Khriste" ("Childhood In Christ")], when the Brotherhood of Venerable Iov of Pochaev was yet in the Carpathians, in Vladimirovo. Most renowned are her brochures, dealing with «Житья Святых для детей и молодых людей» ["Zhit’ya Sviatykh dlya detei I molodykh liudey" (“The Lives Of the Saints For Children And Young People")], twenty editions of which were published in Jordanville.



Translated into English by G. Spruksts from the Russian text appearing in «Православная Русь» ["Pravoslavnaya Rus'" ("Orthodox Rus'")], No. 7, 1996, p. 13. English-language translation copyright © 1998 by The St. Stefan Of Perm' Guild, The Russian Cultural Heritage Society, and the Translator. All rights reserved.

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